Stranger Things Have Happened
by Armagnac
Summary: Some patterns of behavior follow logic, but many do not.  Dr. Brennan reconsiders prior conclusions.  Events follow s6 ep18, The Truth in the Myth.  Rating has changed!  Rated M for language/sexual situations.  TB/VN-M
1. Mirror Reel

Disclaimer: I do not own Bones nor any of the characters contained therein.

Summary: Some patterns of behavior follow logic, but many do not. Dr. Brennan reconsiders prior conclusions. Events follow s6 ep18, The Truth in the Myth. Rated T for language/sexual situations. Rating may change. TB/VN-M

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**Stranger Things Have Happened**

**Chapter 1: Mirror Reel**

The cab ride home took no more or less time than usual, in her estimation, though the trip seemed much shorter. She supposed that she must have allowed her thoughts to distract her. His last words – well, the last words before they'd each said goodnight – still rang in her head. Pushing through her door, keys jingling in her hand, she replayed their exchange once more.

_"Just because you can explain something doesn't mean it's explainable." His mouth had teased into a smirk._

_"You mean explicable." She had smiled back._

_"Sure, like us." He'd given a slight toss to his head, joking with her, attempting to deflect the impact of his words. "We don't make any sense at all."_

Temperance sighed, hanging up her coat. She wasn't sure if they made any sense, but then human pairings both romantic and platonic rarely followed any logic. Perhaps all human relationships were ultimately ludicrous. That didn't mean they were of no value. _Despite having missed my chance with Booth_, she thought, _his friendship is of great value to me, whether it makes sense or not_. She supposed Booth probably knew this, so she resisted the urge to call and tell him as much.

Stepping into the kitchen, she reached into the cupboard for the ruby tin of herbal tea Angela had gifted her with some time ago. Temperance completely dismissed the notion that the blend had any restorative effect, but she had come to enjoy the spicy flavor of the tea. _This has about as much chance of improving my sense of well-being or my love life as our last case had of involving an actual chupacabra_, she thought. Shaking her head as she shook loose tea into a strainer, she smiled, still amused at how much Booth, Hodgins, and Mr. Nigel-Murray had wanted a chupacabra to have been responsible for the man's death. _Completely ludicrous_.

Kettle on the stove, she turned to lean on the counter, gripping her phone as she thumbed through texts to see if she'd missed anything. She hadn't. Yet something was still poking at the corners of her consciousness, which she found irksome. The case was solved, no new case had presented itself, everything was as she expected. Temperance felt her brow crimp.

It wasn't Booth's Yeti story, not really, but . . . _I was so determined to find a rational explanation for his story_, she thought, _because I __**wanted**__ to believe him_. _I applied rational methods to lend coherence to an irrational story, but my reason for doing so was itself irrational_. _I concluded, in advance, that Booth's story was believable, and sought an explanation that fit it_. _If I am going to place my conclusions before my research in this manner, I may as well get my own public access cable show_. Temperance snorted softly at the notion, and then frowned again. _Alternately, what have I __**not**__ wanted to believe that I have not put the same amount of effort into proving or disproving?_ _What biases have I been letting slip past my resolve to find the truth in all matters?_

Whistling distracted her. She pushed her phone away with a forefinger and turned, lifting the kettle from the stove, pouring the boiling water over the strainer that rested across the opening of her mug. Steam rushed past her nose, an errant cloud disappearing as soon as it was born. Setting the kettle down, she switched off the stove and stared down at the hot liquid turning color. The scent of the tea rose, and she breathed deep, eyes closing. Comforting, warm, slightly sweet, notes of cardamom and possibly clove. It was reminding her of something . . .

_"One night, I borrowed your iguana and wore it as a hat. At a party."_

She opened her eyes. _Why am I reminded of Mr. Nigel-Murray?_ Temperance wondered. Curious, she leaned closer to the tea, took a deeper breath. "Oh!" Straightening back up, she tilted her head slightly. _I have detected a similar scent on him before – it was especially noticeable when I stood next to him as he explained the bite mark pattern on the last victim_. Her hand rested on her hip. _I'm not sure what that has to do with anything else, though_. Extracting a spoon from a drawer, she peered down at the liquid, waiting for it to turn darker.

_"And also, I have to apologize for spreading a rumor . . . that you and I were lovers."_

She had laughed at him. Truthfully, it still amused her – the idea that she and Mr. Nigel-Murray could be in a sexual relationship of any kind was absurd, just as she had said. Temperance felt herself grinning down into the tea leaves as she remembered her intern's confession. _Completely ludicrous_.

She blinked. _Is that it?_

Both hands on the counter, no longer seeing the tea steeping below her, she pondered his words, and her own.

_"I would sooner confirm that the chupacabra was the cause of this man's death!"_

"Hm." Granted, she'd been engaging in hyperbole, but to equate something unlikely, if physically plausible, with something that had no basis in fact . . . _Why did I say that?_ _If a suspect had made such a hyperbolic statement, I would have thought that they were being defensive_. Temperance paused. _Was I being defensive?_

She shook her head, finally noticing that her tea was ready. _Of course not_, she thought. _I have no reason to be defensive_. Lifting the strainer from her tea, she tapped the leaves into her disposal, setting the loud grinding blades into motion with the flip of a switch. _Perhaps I should test my assessment of Mr. Nigel-Murray – a conclusion is meaningless without empirical evidence_. Dipping her spoon into the honey pot on the counter, she brought the laden utensil to her mug and stirred. _A rational interaction with him will dispel any irrational biases that might have influenced my thinking_. _It's just a matter of setting aside any presuppositions I may have about him so that I can evaluate him properly_. She took a tentative sip of tea and walked to where she had left her phone.

Being much too late for a phone call to anyone other than Angela, or Booth, or possibly her father, Temperance decided to simply text her intern. Quickly, she thumbed out a message.

_There_, she thought. _I'll speak with him tomorrow and settle this_.

Temperance smiled and entered the livingroom, intending to read until she was ready for bed, spices from her beverage teasing across her palate.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

No amount of eye-rubbing was going to change the message he'd received, and yet he persisted. He wasn't hungover, he wasn't ill, he wasn't hallucinating, probably . . . _Can't be a prank_, he thought. _Dr. Brennan doesn't pull pranks_. _Or, or, it could be a prank, if someone's got hold of her phone, but – no, she wouldn't just leave it somewhere_. _It's possible she's allowed someone else to pull a prank on me_ . . . He shook his head and had another go at his eyes, remembering the black substance he'd had to scrub off after Hodgins' prank on him. Holding his phone directly in front of his face, he read the text again:

_Mr. Nigel-Murray, I've decided to re-evaluate my assessment of you. I require your participation, so please contact me regarding your availability – the sooner we meet, the better._

His hands were actually shaking now, and he set his phone down. He hadn't felt this shaky since just after he'd sworn off alcohol. With a soft thump, Vincent sat on the folded futon that doubled as his bed most nights, when he wasn't awake and pacing or slumped in the extremely comfortable leather chair he'd kept from his post-Jeopardy win shopping spree. He'd managed to sell back the ornate four-poster bed and many of the other large expenditures he'd made, but he hadn't been able to part with the chair: buttery-soft leather the color of cognac, wide cushion, high back, matching footstool – nearly regal enough to be a throne. It completely outclassed everything else in his flat, but he didn't care. He loved it. The only reason he wasn't sitting in it now was he didn't want to feel that comfortable. That was a chair for quiet reflection, positive rumination, victorious contemplation, not abject agonization. It was a wonder he ever sat in it at all.

_Why would she need to re-assess me now?_ Vincent wondered, rubbing his temples. _Have I performed in a sub-standard manner?_ _Was there an error I made that she caught later that I didn't notice?_ His head jerked. _Was it my making of amends?_ _She was fairly derisive_ . . . _but then again, she seemed more forgiving of me than Dr. Saroyan had been_. His head dropped into his hands. _Re-assessment, of __**course**_. _She's had a think and decided, based on my confessions, that I've behaved too unprofessionally_. _I'm going to be sacked!_ _I'll never get another internship, I'll never finish my doctorate_ . . .

Vincent shook his head again, realizing he was angsting himself into a headache. Hands gripping his knees, he strove to take deep breaths, going over multiple facts in his head, seeking a state of calm. _The Trilby hat derives its name from the lead character, Trilby O'Ferrall, in the 1896 George du Maurier play, also entitled Trilby, in which she wore the hat_. _The male iguana has two penises, technically hemipenes, so that if the female pins one of them with her tail during attempted love-making, he retains the opportunity to penetrate her with the other one_. _A doctorate, or licentia docenti, was originally only given out by the church in medieval times, when it afforded the recipient a license to teach at university, the title itself not being intrinsically linked to the field of medicine_. _Interns are more likely to burn out during the second week or after the twelve week mark than at any other time during an internship_. He stared down at his fingers, pale digits splayed over burgundy silk, and let out a long breath. _Have your tea and breakfast_, he thought. _You don't have to text her back immediately – 'soon' is not the same thing as immediately_.

Deliberately, he pushed it from his mind, or at least to a corner of it. He stood and strode to the kitchen, or the nook that passed for a kitchen, bare feet slapping wood. It wasn't until he was reaching for the box of Yorkshire Gold that he remembered: he was out of tea. "Bugger." Two breadheels lurked in a bag by the toaster, and he recalled before opening the refrigerator that he was out of eggs as well. _Excellent_, he thought. _No breakfast_. _Now I've something to be angry about – perfect distraction_.

Grumbling to himself, he made his way to the bathroom, disrobing as he went, the silk pajamas slipping over his skin to fall unceremoniously to the floor. Ordinarily, he'd have folded them before setting them in the dry-clean-only hamper, but he was feeling less than fastidious at the moment. Vincent stepped from cool hardwood to cold tile and started the shower running. _If I can't get some warm liquid in me_, he thought, _I'll have to settle for getting warm liquid on me_. After a moment, the implications of his thought dawned on him, and he was suddenly very glad not to have said it aloud, in front of anyone. Entering, the heat and wet hit him at once, and he reached for the scented soap his uncle had sent him from India, breathing in spices.

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**Author's Note**: Writer's block is a bitch (and so am I?). I started working on a fic a couple of months ago and due to being busy and other things, I just got stuck. Then an idea occurred to me for a completely different fandom. I'm still stuck on the other fic, but I've started on this one – my first in the Bones-verse.

I caught a repeat of the Bones episode, "The Truth in the Myth," and it made me reflect a bit on the way season 6 ended. As glad as I was that Brennan and Booth ended up together (finally!) last season, I was sad to lose Mr. Nigel-Murray, and the repeat I saw just reminded me of what an interesting character he was, so when this idea bubbled to the surface, I decided to explore it. This fic will likely have 5 chapters when it's done. Oh, and each chapter title is a dance move of some kind.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Box Step

Disclaimer: I do not own Bones nor any of the characters contained therein.

Summary: Some patterns of behavior follow logic, but many do not. Dr. Brennan reconsiders prior conclusions. Events follow s6 ep18, The Truth in the Myth. Rated T for language/sexual situations. Rating may change. TB/VN-M

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**Stranger Things Have Happened**

**Chapter 2: Box Step**

The inevitable lull between cases always altered the atmosphere of the lab. Everyone was still busy, considering how much anthropological work there was to be done, but there was less urgency when no lives were on the line, as there often was during an active investigation of a case. This suited Temperance well enough. She enjoyed her work, whatever the focus. She stared at the ancient remains before her, impressed by the preservation of the bones. Another archaeological team had done the extraction, months ago, but she had to admit to herself that they had done an excellent job.

"Hon, I have _got_ to go."

Temperance turned to her friend. "Why? It's not even noon yet. And your baby isn't due for another –"

"Seriously?" Angela smirked. "Do you know how exhausting it is carrying this around?" She patted her bulging belly. "We don't have a case right now, and I can study the backlog of skulls from home – where I can lay on the couch and eat ice cream. Trust me, I'll get more done."

"Actually, it's far more likely that you'll fall asleep on the coach and get very little work done, but . . . I understand. A baby is essentially a parasitic organism draining you of nutrients – I only hope you're eating more than just ice cream to keep up with its relentless demands."

Angela laughed softly. "I'm pretty sure the little guy is the one making the demands for ice cream, but don't worry – I've been taking my pre-natal vitamins and eating actual balanced meals occasionally." She winked, turning to go. "I'll see you tomorrow, Bren. Call me if you need me."

Temperance watched her walk down the lab steps. "I probably won't need to call you, unless we get another case. Enjoy your ice cream and skulls."

"Thanks, sweetie."

Peering closer at the ribcage in front of her, Temperance focused on the slight discoloration, pondering whether it had been the result of an injury or transfer from the remnants of clothing that had been left on the man. A buzzing noise distracted her.

Frowning, she stood straight and extracted her phone from her pocket. _Ah_, she thought, _a return text from Mr. Nigel-Murray_. _He's contacting me later than I had expected_. _If he is drinking again, he may be hungover, though I hope that is not the case_. _I wonder why he didn't simply call me – he's familiar enough with my schedule that he would know I'd be awake and prepared to answer my phone_. She pressed the button to read his text.

_I am available to you anytime after 1 PM. Let me know when you wish me to meet you at the lab._

"Hm." Temperance recalled her own message to him and realized that she might not have been suitably clear. _I'll just call him, and we'll set up a time_, she thought. Her fingers dialed automatically. Phone pressed to her ear as she listened to the ring, she saw Dr. Saroyan walking from her office, waving in her direction and mouthing something. _What is she_ . . . Temperance squinted. _Oh_. _She's going to lunch early_. Temperance waved back and turned away.

"Salutations!" came the voice in her ear, with an accent that boasted a private school sheen over a Birmingham youth.

"Mr. Nigel-Murray?" Temperance placed her hand on the table near the left metacarpals of the remains, leaning as she spoke.

"Yes, Dr. Brennan, it is _I_ – er, or '_me_' would be more grammatical, um . . ." There was a sound like a cough. "Did you get my response text?"

"Of course. It's why I'm calling you back. I thought I might not have made myself clear, and I wanted to schedule a time to meet."

"Well, that's clear enough, yes, and –"

"I'll be finishing my work in the lab today at six PM, so I would like you to meet me at my apartment at six-thirty tonight. You did say that you were available anytime after one in the afternoon – I assumed you meant today."

"Assumed – well, you know what they say when you, uh . . . actually, nevermind that. Your – you want me to come round to your flat?"

"Yes. If that is not acceptable, I can come to yours."

"No, no, no – yours is fine. Better than fine, I'm sure. I mean . . . what exactly do you need me to do to, er, prepare for this . . . re-assessment?"

"You need only arrive ready to interact with me for . . . possibly up to a couple of hours, but no special preparation is necessary. If you like, you may bring some CDs with music of your choosing. This is an experiment, Mr. Nigel-Murray, nothing more."

"Ah, an experiment, I see. Er . . . what sort of experiment?"

"A relatively simple one. I'll fill you in on the details when you get here. Oh – and you should probably bring a change of clothing and some antibacterial wipes. And condoms of a suitable size for your penis."

"I . . . _what?_"

"See you at six-thirty, Mr. Nigel-Murray." Temperance disconnected, not waiting for a response.

_That's clear enough, I suppose_, she thought. _He frequently exhibits signs of nervousness_. _To tell him more might cause him too much agitation_. She re-pocketed her phone and got back to work.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

Vincent stared at his phone. He was vaguely aware that his mouth was, in fact, still gaping wide, despite the phone call having been terminated minutes earlier. There would have been a jumble of thoughts flying through his brain had they not all log-jammed within it. Perhaps he was due for a hard reboot.

Laughter spilled from his mouth. His mind called up an image of a red fish-faced person in a white coat. "It's a trap!" he said aloud, giggles gradually stopping as he caught his breath. He set his phone down on the wooden top of the kitchen peninsula, bracing both hands there, back bent, head down, staring at the floor. _She's testing me_, he thought. _Well, of course she is – this is a re-assessment, she said that_. _She's testing my mind, testing to see whether I can follow her leaps in logic, testing to make sure I can refrain from inappropriate behavior_. He squeezed his eyes closed, eyelids crinkling. _I'm meant to accept the consequences of my actions, including the consequences of my having confessed my past actions, as part of my participation in AA, but . . . I really hope I don't lose my internship over a load of pointless bragging_.

He thought back to the time immediately following his post-Jeopardy win. What he could remember of it, at least. There was no question that he'd had fun – quite a bit of it. But he'd been surprised at how much he'd missed the Jeffersonian. When Vincent had walked back through those doors again, it all came flooding back – the stress, yes, but more than that, the thrill of solving mysteries through examination of bones and, of course, various occasionally-exploding experiments in the lab. Only then had it occurred to him how much time he'd spent talking about the lab while he was engaging in assorted forms of debauchery. He was quite used to seeing quizzical expressions on people's faces when he spoke to them, but, for example, it hadn't dawned on him that perhaps the nice lady giving him the lapdance wasn't really interested in hearing about how he once boiled a man's remains in a vat of rhubarb. Somehow, even when he was miles and miles away, the Jeffersonian had remained a part of him. Now that he was back, he didn't want to leave it behind.

_Right_, he thought. _So_. _She's either requested me to bring condoms for alternate uses entirely unlike their intended purpose and has no idea how suggestive her request sounded, or . . . she's done it deliberately to make me think I'm in for a delicious night of sexual adventure only to catch me out_. _The second explanation makes more sense, in that it fits in with a re-assessment of me, at least with regard to my professional behavior, but . . . I can't completely rule out the first one_.

Pushing back off the peninsula, Vincent ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it. _I've got to stop worrying about it!_ _If only I had some idea what sort of experiment she wants to do_ . . . He frowned. _Can't be anything messy, since it's at her flat, but then again, she did tell me to bring a change of clothes_. _What sort of experiment takes a couple of hours, requires condoms, anti-bacterial wipes, and a change of clothing, as well as accompanying music?_

His eyes flew wide, head jerking back. _We're going to re-create a crime scene!_ A grin flicked across Vincent's face. _Since she can't possibly be propositioning me for sex_, he thought, _she must want me to go over an invented crime scene in order to . . . extrapolate how evidence found at a scene relates to evidence found on bones during examination at the lab_. He exhaled, color suffusing his cheeks. _That has to be it_.

Turning back to the half-unpacked bags on the counter, Vincent resumed putting his groceries away, noting the square of condensation left by the carton of orange juice and managing not to drag his sleeve through it. _I'll have to pop round to the chemist's, or 'pharmacy' as the locals call it, to pick up a few things prior to my meeting with Dr. Brennan_, he thought, _but that won't take long_.

Humming to himself, he smiled, adept fingers placing every item in its rightful place.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

**Author's Note**: Ah, communication. Somehow so much more fun when it's off – well, fun for me, anyway. I'm keeping this in 3rd person limited, and it's my intention to have one section from Dr. Brennan's PoV and one section from Mr. Nigel-Murray's PoV in every chapter. Hope I'm getting their speech patterns right.

Anyway, thanks for reading!


	3. Sugar Push

Disclaimer: I do not own Bones nor any of the characters contained therein.

Summary: Some patterns of behavior follow logic, but many do not. Dr. Brennan reconsiders prior conclusions. Events follow s6 ep18, The Truth in the Myth. Rated T for language/sexual situations. Rating may change. TB/VN-M

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

**Stranger Things Have Happened**

**Chapter 3: Sugar Push**

Ultimately, she had decided that it was unnecessary for her to change into more formal clothing after returning to her apartment, but Temperance did opt to put on fresh slacks and a new blouse, reasoning that her work outfit might still retain some of the aromas from the lab, which some people found displeasing. _I suppose Mr. Nigel-Murray would not be distracted by that_, she thought, _given his familiarity with human remains, but it is better to be hygienic_.

She glanced at the clock. 6:27 PM. Scanning the room, she noted that her apartment was tidy without being sparse. _Should I clear space on the floor?_ Temperance wondered. _The bed will be a more comfortable location, but it's possible we could need more room_. _I'm not sure I have enough pillows_ . . . Her head tilted. _Maybe it's better to wait, and see what level of creativity Mr. Nigel-Murray brings to the task_.

There was a muted, rapid knock at the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the clock flip from 6:29 PM to 6:30 PM. She smiled as she stepped forward to open the door. "You're very punctual, Mr. Nigel-Murray. Please come in."

Bobbing his head, he grinned at her and crossed the threshold clutching a brown paper bag. "Yes, thank you, I try to be." His eyes darted around the room as she closed the door. "You've got quite a lovely place here, Dr. Brennan. It's actually warm and inviting."

"Why wouldn't it be? A home should be warm and inviting."

"It – yes, I ah . . . sorry. I suppose I wasn't quite sure what to expect as most of the time I'm only seeing you at the lab, a much more . . . sterile environment." He turned, scanning the room, the messenger bag slung over his light jacket resting against his back.

"Well, it would have to be. It wouldn't be much of a lab without appropriate sanitary regulations in place."

"True." Mr. Nigel-Murray's eyes flitted away from hers and then back. "Did you know –"

"What's in the bag?" she interrupted, hoping to belay his compulsive reciting of facts.

"The, um – oh!" He lifted the paper bag to eye level, grinning. "Yes. I brought what you asked of me, Dr. Brennan . . ."

"That seems like it holds much more than I requested, Mr. Nigel-Murray. How many condoms did you buy?"

Her intern flushed red. "I . . . I . . . just one box. It's . . . If I could just – do you mind if I just unload it for you?"

"It would certainly be more expedient if you do so. Here," she gestured toward the livingroom, "I'll clear the magazines off the table."

"Cheers, that's, er, that's great." He followed her to the coffee table, fidgeting slightly as she moved the scientific journals and trade magazines.

"There. That should be enough room."

"Thank you. Right." Mr. Nigel-Murray took a deep breath. "First of all . . ." Reaching in, the bag rustling, he pulled out something large and set it on the table.

"Why did you bring a pineapple?" Temperance's brow crimped. "I did not request one."

"Did you know that the pineapple is a symbol of hospitality and welcoming in multiple cultures?"

"Yes, actually, I did know that, although it is more typical of the host to display a pineapple as a symbol of welcome to guests, rather than a guest presenting one to a host. It seems you got it backwards."

"Yes, yes, it does seem that way, but . . . I thought, since you were already welcoming me into your home, I would show reciprocal welcome-ness by bringing this to you. As a gift. Of welcome." His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

"Well, I appreciate your gift. Thank you."

Mr. Nigel-Murray took a quick breath and smiled. "You're very welcome. So to speak."

"I had wondered if you had another reason for bringing pineapple. As you may know, given your penchant for absorbing trivia, the consumption of fruit, particularly pineapple, can reduce the taste of bitterness in semen by increasing the level of fructose produced by the seminal vesicles, though it is not my intention to test that this evening."

Her intern remained silent, though his open-mouthed expression seemed to indicate that he wanted to say something.

"What else is in the bag?" she prompted.

"I, um – well, it . . . it is often appropriate to present a host with a bottle of something, usually wine or champagne, when one is invited to said host's home. However, I do not trust myself to purchase wine or champagne, for reasons with which you are already familiar, even as a gift for someone else, so . . ." He lifted a green bottle by the neck, angling the label toward her. "It's a sparkling ginger beverage, more similar to ginger beer than ginger ale, but a bit smoother. I've found I quite like it, and I hope you do as well." He handed her the bottle.

"I'm sure I will. Thank you." She turned the bottle in her hands as he reached into the bag again. "I've noticed that you seem especially fond of South Asian and Middle Eastern spices."

Hunched over the bag, a tub of lemon-scented handy-wipes clutched in his long fingers, he peered up at her. "You have?"

"Yes. In addition to enjoying this beverage, you wear a perfume that has notes of cardamom, clove, and ginger in it."

"I, er, heh," Mr. Nigel-Murray chuckled as he straightened up. "I don't wear perfume. There's a soap I use, and an aftershave, with that sort of scent. One of my uncles sent it to me from India."

"Oh. Well, an aftershave is essentially a perfume."

"Not . . . quite."

"I disagree. The primary purpose of aftershave is the same as perfume – it's to anoint a person with a pleasing scent."

"Actually, the primary purpose of an aftershave is to cool the skin and close the pores immediately after shaving, hence the term, after . . . shave." Bending to set the tub of wipes on the table, he rummaged in the bag again. "The lingering scent is just a bonus, and really ought not have the potency of an actual perfume."

"Ah. That makes sense. I stand corrected."

Eyebrows raised, her intern gripped a box of condoms in long fingers that were even whiter than usual. "I . . . _would_ say that perfume and cologne are very nearly the same thing, however, being as the only distinction between them is the gender intended for their use."

"Agreed." Temperance looked pointedly at the box in his hand. "Trojans are a good brand, though I am surprised you didn't choose Sheik, considering your spice preferences." She grinned at her own joke.

"I . . . don't believe they make spiced condoms. That might be quite uncomfortable, depending on the spices used . . ."

"Ha! Yes!" She laughed, considering the possibilities. "A cayenne condom would be especially uncomfortable, for one or both partners, depending on which sides were coated . . ." Her eyes widened, and she pointed at him. "I believe using such a thing would be quite the practical joke! Or at least it fits the definition of prank as I understand it."

"That's . . ."

"Don't you think?" She reached across and poked his shoulder, wondering why he wasn't laughing.

Mr. Nigel-Murray's eyes closed and his chin dropped to his chest, arms hanging limply at his sides as he let the box of condoms fall to the table, fingers twitching slightly.

"I fail to see what is making you so upset, Mr. Nigel-Murray." Temperance frowned.

"Is this . . . Are you pulling a prank on me?"

"Of course not. I was merely talking about a prank hypothetically. I believe pulling a prank on you now would be counterproductive to my re-evaluation of my assessment of you. And you know how I dislike wasting time."

"I . . . I . . ." He sighed, meeting her eyes briefly and looking away. "I really don't want to lose my internship, Dr. Brennan."

"Oh! Well, your internship is not in jeopardy, Mr. Nigel-Murray. This is more of a personal experiment."

"It – what?" He frowned. "Personal . . . I don't understand."

"Yes, I see that." She placed a hand on her hip. "Essentially, I am just making a request of you. I cannot require you to participate in this experiment – even suggesting it is potentially inappropriate, but I had hoped that you would be amenable to my request."

"Ah. Well. You need only ask . . ." Eyes lifting, he offered a watery smile.

"I want to be very clear with you that this has no bearing on your continued performance as my intern, whether you agree to comply or not. I am not compelling you to participate."

"Yes, right, got that part, um . . ." He swallowed, fidgeting, fingers entwined. "But, the bit I'm still unclear on is . . . what exactly this experiment entails?"

"You agree that you aren't required to do any of this, and that you can leave at any time?"

"I – yes, I agree! Now –"

"I want to have sex with you."

"I –" Mr. Nigel-Murray blinked, mouth open again.

"Is that acceptable to you?"

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

His ears were deceiving him, he was sure of it. Or perhaps he was dreaming, his stress nightmares melding with his erotic dreams as they sometimes did. She was still staring at him, so he thought he'd better speak up. "Would . . . would you mind terribly repeating that?"

"I want to have sex with you. The personal experiment I would like to conduct involves our having sexual intercourse with one another." She cocked her head, expression bland as if she was not saying what she was saying.

"That's . . ." Vincent swallowed. "Right. It's just . . . why would you want that?"

"You did say that you've been told you're an excellent lover."

"I – yes, I did, and I have, but . . ." He felt himself flinch and wanted to kick himself. "It's just – you _laughed_ at me. I got the distinct impression that you would never consider . . ." He gestured, his hands acting independently of him as if trying to catch or dispel his own thoughts. "I mean, you didn't seem even slightly interested."

"I wasn't. I do apologize for laughing at you – that was insensitive. It has come to my attention that there are occasions when I do not consider all of the options and unconsciously dismiss certain conclusions before I have all the criteria. I indicated to you that I would sooner rule that a chupacabra was the cause of a man's death than I would state that a sexual relationship between us was even possible!"

"Yes, I recall." Vincent stared down at the items on the table.

"And it occurred to me how completely illogical my saying that was! So, I am re-assessing my prior assessment as well as re-assessing you based on what you claimed."

"So, essentially, you are testing your own conclusions about me by way of this personal experiment. Which is us. Having sex." His mind was still spinning. He really wished it would stop.

"Yes! I expect that, regardless of whether you may have embellished the level of skill you possess during our conversation, you are likely to know a great deal of information regarding different sexual practices and techniques."

". . . I do possess a rather complete knowledge of the Kama Sutra."

"See? Exactly. Are you willing to proceed with this experiment?"

Clasping his hands low in front of himself, willing them to stop twisting, Vincent hesitated. _If this were a dream_, he thought, _I'd have said yes already and we'd likely be at it, possibly while in a gem-encrusted howdah on the back of a giant eagle in flight above a carnival on fire_. _But . . . I'm fairly certain this is not a dream_. _And this __**is**__ a test_. _Is she testing whether I'll say yes or no?_ _Or is she really testing my . . . skill as a lover?_ _Can I even pass such a thing – Dr. Brennan is very worldly, after all_ . . .

"Mr. Nigel-Murray, I need your answer."

"Right. Of course." He consciously straightened his spine, fingertips pressing together in front of his chest. _I should err on the side of caution_, he thought, _tell her no_. _But . . . sometimes, it has to be worth going for the brass ring_. He swallowed, hands dropping to his sides. "Then yes. I accept." He braced himself for laughter, for rejection and ridicule.

"Excellent." Dr. Brennan nodded her head, seeming relaxed yet distracted. "Then we should get started right away." She sat on the couch. "Perhaps we should start here, Mr. Nigel-Murray."

"Er, yes. Alright." _This is happening, this is actually happening_, his thoughts pointlessly informed him. Something was bothering him, however. Although if he was being honest, a great many things were bothering him, or trying to bother him, and so he only had enough brain space to deal with one thing at a time. "Um, something I would like to suggest, with a view toward easing the . . . transition to the experiment itself, is . . . our mode of address."

"Mode of address? Are you suggesting we devise pet names for each other as a way of establishing interpersonal intimacy? I'm familiar with the approach, but I'm not convinced of its necessity." She was staring at him.

A chuckle escaped him as he imagined what sort of pet names his mentor might come up with. "That's – no, I don't think pet names are strictly necessary, but . . . I think it would be helpful if we referred to one another by our given names." He circumnavigated the coffee table to reach the couch, taking a seat next to her. "There is cultural precedent."

"That is true. Very well, Mr. – I mean, Vincent."

"Thank you, er, Temperance." He quite liked her name, but it felt strange to say it. His hands remained perched on his knees, as if awaiting instructions. He was dismayed to discover he had none.

"Are you uncomfortable?"

"Am I . . ." Shakily, Vincent began to laugh, leaning forward and then tilting back, one hand reaching up to cover his mouth. Dr. Brennan was looking at him quizzically, which only made him laugh harder. Eyes watering, gasping for breath, he waved his hand at his face, attempting to cool himself down. "Why on earth would I be uncomfortable? My mentor, in whose hands my future rests, has invited me to have carnal knowledge of her as a part of an experiment, the focus of which is an evaluation of my sexual prowess – which, even if it does not directly affect the status of my internship, will no doubt affect personal evaluations of me on the job." He shook his head and stared at his now upturned palms. "I must be barking mad."

Her head reared back slightly. "I don't find you to have any canine attributes, M— Vincent. Loyalty perhaps. But as I said, this will not affect your internship, and you are wrong about the focus here – the focus is on whether I am a good judge of character and skill."

"That's . . . still quite a bit of pressure on me to perform." _Why did I say THAT out loud?_ Vincent chided himself, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"On the contrary – the pressure is entirely on me." A short bark of a laugh escaped Dr. Brennan's mouth. "Ha! Pressure! Get it? Because of the sex!" As ever, her eyes seemed to pierce right through him, even when her manner was not at all stern.

Caught between the impulse to laugh and the desire to be swallowed up by the floor, Vincent felt his face twist into a bad compromise between grin and grimace. He had no idea what to say.

"I have been told that my sense of humor is strange." Dr. Brennan's tone was muted.

"The term 'strange' merely indicates a deviation from the norm – there isn't anything strictly negative about it." His eyes flicked to hers and away.

"Some people use the term as a pejorative, but I do agree that variation from the norm should not be viewed negatively. Everything must be evaluated on its own merits."

"Absolutely." He nodded, perhaps a bit too rapidly.

She was staring at him again. "Was there something else on your mind?"

Vincent felt an eruption building, but not the sexual kind. Facts. Always facts. He tried to resist, but felt an internal dam breaking. "Did you know that a single ounce of garam masala, depending on the blend contains approximately 215 milligrams of calcium? Also, cloves are actually the dried buds of an aromatic flower produced by an evergreen originally grown in Indonesia, and the oil, when extracted, can be used as a pain killer in an emergency. Bromelain, an enzyme extracted from pineapple, can be used to reduce swelling after an injury, as well as break down proteins. The reading of tea leaves as a means of fortune-telling evolved in the seventeenth century after Dutch merchants introduced tea to Europe after beginning trade with China. Turmeric spice, which is made from the horizontal roots or rhizomes of the turmeric plant, can be used as a preservative. Elephantiasis is typically caused by parasitic worms that enter the lymphatic system and obstruct the vessels, yet the disease can be cured with antibiotics which kill the symbiotic bacteria within the worms. Caparisons were once draped over pack animals and mounts used during battle to protect them but largely came to be used as decoration and indications of status. Starting in the mid-nineteenth century, howdah pistols were crafted to defend against attacks by tigers and lions, and eventually robbers, and could have up to four barrels. Dung beetles were revered by – "

"Mr. Nigel-Murray!"

He winced. "I . . ."

"I realize that reciting facts helps you calm yourself, but if you keep doing that, we won't have time for anything else!" Dr. Brennan looked incredulous. "Are you certain that you're willing to continue?"

He passed a hand over his eyes, relieved that his brow wasn't drenched in sweat. "I . . . am. And I apologize, for going on so long." Sighing, he stared at his hands resting upturned on his knees. "But you must recognize that this is an unusual situation."

"Yes." She nodded, hair swinging toward him. "But you did agree that variation from the norm is not strictly negative. Are you unable to evaluate this situation on its own merits?"

He felt his mouth pulling into a smile. "Touché. Certainly one must consider any situation from all angles." Tilting his head, he peered sideways at her. "What brought all this on?"

"As I said, I realized I had made an illogical assessment –"

"No, no – I got that. What I mean is . . ." Vincent raised his hands, fingers loosely splayed. "What made you question your logic in the first place? Something must have spurred you to reconsider."

"I simply questioned myself – I noticed the flaw in my thinking later. I do that sometimes. I go over things in my head, and when something doesn't make sense, it pops out. That's all it was."

Eyebrows raised, Vincent considered whether to pursue this line of thinking. _If I haven't lost my mind completely_, he thought, _Dr. Brennan seems to be nervous as well, where she didn't before_. _What's she hiding?_ "I suppose that makes sense. It's just that there's usually something that spawns an epiphany."

"What spawned my epiphany was my habit of reviewing my conclusions. I do not require outside stimuli to become inspired to think – I think all the time. There are times when I can't stop thinking. It's why my sleep patterns are occasionally erratic, and why I talk too fast for some people to understand, and why I am able to write books and conduct research in the lab even during cases I work with Booth." She stood, walking around the end of the couch and heading toward the kitchen. "This is just how I am. I don't operate the way most other people do."

He followed her with his eyes. "I've noticed that, yes. But as I've said, there's nothing wrong with –"

"If you believe that my epiphany is misguided and that this experiment is pointless, I expect you to say so. Communication is a part of your participation here, so if you have any pertinent facts to share about my logic and about my re-assessment of you as a whole, I need to hear it." The glasses she was extracting from the cabinets made slight thunks as she set them on the counter. "I value your insight, as you must already know, because why would I invite you here if I didn't want to hear what you have to say? The success of this experiment is contingent upon all of our interactions, not just sexual ones." She put a hand on her hip. "Dammit."

Vincent was standing. "What is it?"

"I . . . I got these glasses down because I was going to pour us some whisky, but then I remembered you can't have whisky."

He approached his mentor, watching as her brows knit together. "That's alright. You may indulge, if you like." Truth be told, he didn't want to see a bottle or catch even the slightest whiff of whisky if he could help it, but he was surprised at how distracted Dr. Brennan seemed, and he wanted to be accommodating.

"No. I believe that would be rude." She was shaking her head. "And I don't want the scent of alcohol to inflame you."

Vincent suppressed a chuckle, made easier when she shot him a slight glare, and cleared his throat. "That's not _quite_ the reaction I have to alcohol, but . . . I appreciate that." He took a step closer. "Dr. Brennan, er, sorry, I mean, Temperance . . . I have an unfortunate tendency to speak at excessive length at times, particularly on occasions when, ideally, I should not speak at all."

"Yes. I have noticed this, Mr., uh, Vincent. It is one of your quirks, indicative of nervousn—"

"Agreed." He wondered at his growing confidence, daring to interrupt Dr. Brennan. _Is there an inherent paradigm shift when one person shows vulnerability to another?_ Vincent wondered. _Can't be that simple_. "However, I am concerned that my behavior, or my nervousness, may seem to be somewhat contagious, in the euphemistic sense, of course."

"I – contagious?" Her head reared back. "That's absurd. Behavior does not spread like a contagion. Social interaction is completely—"

Impulsively, his hand scooped her jaw, his lips meeting hers, head cocked to one side, mouth opening. After a moment, she returned the kiss, opening as well and sliding her tongue along his. Vincent felt her pulse quicken along with his own, but decided not to bring her closer into an embrace even as he felt her trace her fingers along his side, moving from hip to ribcage. Her lips were soft, with a sweetness he hadn't been expecting. Despite wanting to continue the kiss, he pulled back out of it, seeking to gauge her reaction.

"You are taking the initiative," she said, cheeks slightly flushed. "That's good."

Vincent licked his lips and smiled shyly. "I have to remind myself sometimes that words aren't the only form of communication."

"Agreed. That is an excellent point." Her arms went over his shoulders, one hand entwining his hair at the nape of his neck as she pulled closer to him.

Their noses brushed as they met in another kiss, and Vincent did not hesitate to put his arms around her waist this time. His body thrummed with excitement, but he refused to let fear derail him. _Adrenalin, despite being associated with the fight-or-flight response_, he thought, _does not necessarily indicate fear – it is equally associated with exhilaration, and even joy_. He could not immediately recall the source for this fact, but at the moment, this did not concern him. Their non-verbal communication consumed most of his attention.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

**Author's Note**: As awkward as these two are, in general and with each other, it seems they're able to connect. Can't rule out any unfortunate slapstick moments, though. Depending on how the next chapter goes, I may need to up the rating to M. We shall see.

Thanks for reading!


	4. Pas de Deux

Disclaimer: I do not own Bones nor any of the characters contained therein.

Summary: Some patterns of behavior follow logic, but many do not. Dr. Brennan reconsiders prior conclusions. Events follow s6 ep18, The Truth in the Myth. Rating has changed! Rated M for language/sexual situations. TB/VN-M

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**Stranger Things Have Happened**

**Chapter 4: Pas de Deux**

Temperance had nearly forgotten the extent to which the mind could be distracted by such things as endorphins. More accurately, she was familiar enough with the process, but the intensity of the experience could still surprise her. She regarded the loose pile of discarded clothing idly, fighting off impatience.

"Right. Got them."

She looked up. Vincent was holding the box of condoms in one hand and the box of wipes in the other. "Excellent," she said. "Set them on the side table."

"Of course." He placed them next to her and paused for a moment, hands in front of him as if he was still holding the boxes. "Actually, I suppose I ought to, er, make use of these." Reaching for the condoms, he slid a finger under the flap of the box, opening it and drawing out one of the packages.

She took her time gazing at his body. Her intern was quite slender and very pale – not at all the type of man she normally went for. Yet there was something about him, and she could not place it. She did like the contrast of his dark hair against his fair skin, and she noticed the muscle tone, though there was still some softness to his belly. His erection was flagging, possibly from having to make the trip from the bedroom to the livingroom and back, or possibly from nervousness. She estimated that his penis was average in size, possibly slightly above in terms of girth, and she was unsurprised to note that he was uncircumcised. "Would you like me to assist you?"

He chuckled, brow furrowing slightly. "I, er, think I can manage." Head jerking, he glanced at her. "Unless you had something . . . special in mind." He waved the packaged condom playfully.

"Hm." She smiled. "I didn't have something special in mind when I said that, but I do now." Temperance raised an eyebrow, noting his widening eyes. She crooked a finger at him. "Move closer to me, please."

"Ah, alright." He took two steps toward her. Tentatively, he proffered the square packet with the circular impression, staring down at her where she sat on the bed. His mouth opened, index finger prodding the air.

"If you are about to share any facts with me, please make sure they are directly related to what we are doing, Vincent." She didn't want to be hit with another torrent of trivia but understood that his nervous habit might be better redirected than completely suppressed. Temperance took the condom from him.

"Yes, of course." He took a deep breath. "Did you know that the oldest written guide to sexual activity was not the Kama Sutra but the Chinese Handbooks of Sex, enscribed by Emperor Huang-Ti during his reign from 2697 to 2598 BC? The first western publication to document sexual positions and habits wasn't written until the fifteenth century, in the form of the Speculum al Foderi. It really shows the difference in sexual mores between – guh . . ."

Using her mouth, Temperance concentrated on unrolling the condom over his penis, noting with some satisfaction that not only had he stopped talking but his erection was regaining its earlier level of engorgement. Even close-up, he smelled quite nice. Holding the condom in place at the base of his shaft with one hand, she let his now-covered penis slip from her mouth, using the knuckles of her other hand to gently tease his scrotum, causing him to gasp. "Have you given any thought to which sexual position you would like to try first?"

"Try?" A smile stretched his mouth, an odd contrast to the crimp between his eyebrows. "I intend to succeed." Blue eyes meeting hers, he winked, his cheeks flushed as he bent toward her, his mouth catching her own.

She felt his cool fingers pressing her shoulders backward and allowed him to push her back onto the bed. The mattress dipped as he climbed on with her, and she swung her legs to rest under him. Breaking the kiss, she examined his expression. "I am surprised that you are going for the missionary position. I was expecting you to be more creative."

He gave her that look again, the one that she believed might denote disbelief or uncertainty, though she could not be sure. With a single finger, he brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "Actually, this is more of a variation on the missionary position, one I happen to enjoy in that it affords me the opportunity to view you as we . . . make love. If you don't mind."

"I don't mind, I just – oh!"

Vincent hoisted her left leg so that the crook of her knee rested on his shoulder. "With me so far?"

"Yes! There are several advantages to this p—" Temperance arched her back as he pressed inside of her, eyes closing for a moment. She considered gathering her thoughts and completing her sentence, but decided that it was unnecessary. Gazing up at him as he eased fully into her, she took in the intent look on his face. _He's becoming more confident as we continue_, she thought. _Perhaps this will prevent him from spouting trivia while we're having sex_. _Although he will be spouting something_. Keeping her thoughts to herself, she felt a grin slip onto her face.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

"Yes. Please continue."

He chuckled softly. "As you wish."

Pulling back so that the head of his penis was just inside the outermost ring of her vagina, he pushed back in – not too slow, not too fast. Vincent repeated the motion, maintaining a steady pace, one hand on her hip, the other on her leg. He was watching her as if fascinated by her reactions. She thought of a microscope, the upright portion focusing down on the slide beneath it. "Mmm . . . I'm the slide . . ."

"What?"

With one hand, she let go of the sheets she'd been gripping and caressed his abdomen. "Can you lean down to kiss me as you do this?"

"Think so." He moved closer, pressing her raised leg until her thigh was flat against her ribcage, her knee dimpling her left breast. Continuing to slip in and out of her, he met her mouth in a kiss that was sloppier than their earlier kisses but made up for it in eagerness. One hand came up to cup her right breast, thumb brushing her nipple.

Averting her face to catch her breath, Temperance simply let herself feel. Lips worked her neck and ear now, one hand gentle at her breast, the other hand gripping her leg – he was deep inside her, relentless, steady, coaxing more slickness from her. She was reaching that point, the one where her verbal abilities sharply declined, her mind quite focused but more on sensations than facts. "Ohhh . . ." Orgasm was likely at least minutes away, but she was building toward it – she felt it pulling her forward.

"Am I hitting the right spot for you, or would you like me to shift?" His words, spoken breathily at her ear.

"I . . . you are, yes, but . . . if you would like to shift, I am comfortable with that." She disliked struggling to form sentences at this point during sex, but she knew she had to provide some feedback. _This is still an experiment, after all_, she thought, watching as he leaned back, still maintaining his rhythm.

Vincent's lips were a deeper pink than usual, and he was breathing with his mouth open. "I'm going to turn you over, and penetrate you from behind. Do you –"

"Vaginally? Or anally?"

"Um, vaginally. Unless you'd prefer . . ."

"No, no, vaginally is good." She didn't mind anal penetration, but disliked the inevitable clean-up.

"Good, OK." He swallowed. "Would you prefer to face completely away from me, or to do sort of a twist so you can, er, see what I'm doing?"

"Oh, twisting. I want to observe you."

"Right then." He nodded, stopping his motion. "Let's see if I can, unh . . ." He pulled back without exiting her, moving her bent leg in front of him, causing her hips to twist to the side. Pressing completely inside her again, he rolled her until her left knee met the bed, moving with her.

Shoving the covers further out of their way, she threw a look over her shoulder at him, tossing the hair out of her eyes. "How would you like me to twist?"

"This way." His voice was soft, his hands gentle as he guided her shoulders so that one was above the other. "Is this too troublesome to maintain?"

"No. I just – I can't keep my hips facing fully downward in this position." Temperance shifted to rest on her right elbow, hand on her cheek.

"That's alright. This is actually a bit more like side penetration anyway. I wanted to make sure you were . . . comfortable."

"I am." She felt calmer but still aroused. "Do you need me to do anything special?"

Vincent smiled, eyes closing briefly. "Just be who you are. That's special enough."

"Well, I could scarcely be anyone else – _oh_ . . ."

He resumed his pace, the angle of penetration changing the sensation somewhat. He was brushing her g-spot without hitting it directly, which both excited and frustrated her. She considered saying something about it when he increased his tempo, making her gasp. Long fingers gripped her, and she felt herself arching into him. With her right hand, she pressed against the headboard to keep them from inching up the mattress and with the left she gripped the sheets behind her. That point was returning – words were becoming difficult to string together again.

Muscle tension amplified the intensity. Through half-lidded eyes, she regarded him, the mess of his black hair jostling each time he connected with her. His cheeks were pink, as was his chest – the swath of hair adorning his sternum could not mask it. With each thrust, he was rougher. Vincent's body angled closer. The pace had increased again – she had missed the change, but felt him give a twist each time he slammed home now. He seemed to be mumbling something. She couldn't make it out. _Too close_. She felt her own voice more than she heard it. Sensation, building. Like a bolt of electricity, it roared through her – heat, light, pleasure. _Too much, it's too much_. She became aware that she was breathing heavily, that she was coated in sweat, that she was shaking. She looked up in time to see Vincent's face contort. He gave a short, sharp cry, his rhythm suddenly erratic, and shuddered to a stop, resting against her, and within her.

"Blast." He breathed into her side.

"Hmm? Is something wrong?"

"Was rather hoping to maintain that a _bit_ longer . . ." Raising his head, he met her eyes with a half-smile.

"I don't see why. I clearly reached orgasm before you did."

"Well, yes, I had noticed that." He drew his hand along her side. "I suppose I was hoping to get you there a few more times before I did."

"That is very giving of you, but unnecessary. Also, I tend to be somewhat sensitive right after reaching orgasm, so the odds of your 'getting me there' had you continued were actually very low."

"Ah. Yes, that would have been frustrating." Vincent swallowed. "I suppose I should . . ." Leaning back, he slowly pulled out of her. "Is it alright if I discard this in your bathroom, or would you prefer I remove it from the premises?" He gestured toward his crotch.

"You mean the condom? I am not afraid of semen, Vincent."

He laughed, settling on his knees in front of her. "I imagine not, considering all the substances we come in contact with during our daily work. I just . . . didn't want to impose."

"It's no imposition. Actually," she sat up abruptly, "let me remove it."

"Oh, um, alright."

She shifted to a seated position and reached for him, noting his intake of breath as she carefully removed the condom, peeling it back and slipping it off increasingly flaccid flesh. "There." Fingers working, Temperance tied the open end like a small balloon.

"I wouldn't have spilled it."

"Hm?" She met his eyes. "Oh! I know that. You're very careful in the lab, so it stands to reason you would be careful here."

"Then why . . ." Vincent's eyes followed her as she climbed off the bed and stood. "What are you doing?"

"I'll be right back." Temperance walked briskly to the kitchen, unconcerned by her nudity. The parts of her that remained damp cooled as she moved, a distracting contrast to the parts of her that were warmer than usual. Opening the fridge, she placed the filled condom on a low shelf, near certain other lab-related items, before reclosing the door. She stretched, back arching, and felt her blood rush within her. A smile grew on her face, though she was not sure why.

When she re-entered the bedroom, she was somewhat surprised to see Vincent standing there with a hooded expression. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

"I don't think so . . ." His head tilted slightly. "Do you have a special means of disposing of condoms? I didn't notice a bin marked 'biohazard' though I wouldn't be entirely surpr—"

"Oh, no, no – I simply wanted to refrigerate your semen."

"You – that . . . er, _why?_"

"As a courtesy, I intend to run some tests on it. I will let you know your sperm density and whether any genetic anomalies are present."

His eyes went wide. "That has to be the strangest expression of courtesy I've ever heard."

"You said strange wasn't negative."

"I did, and I meant that, but," he paused, shaking his head, "well, I suppose as long as you're not sharing your results with the lab . . ."

"I will be sharing this with _a_ lab – I know an excellent geneticist who will run the tests. You probably mean the lab at the Jeffersonian, though."

"Yes, I do." He was still frowning. "Not that I don't appreciate your courtesy, strange or not, but, um, why do you want to run tests on my semen? Is this part of your re-assessment?"

"No, not at all. I simply believe that it is important for people to be informed of how their bodies are functioning, and I thought you might like to know what condition your semen is in for any future reproductive prospects."

He blinked. "That . . . That is very, er, considerate."

"I promise I will be discreet about this."

Head bobbing, his lips pressed together. "I appreciate that."

"In fact, I would like to request that we do not discuss any part of this evaluation with or in front of anyone at the Jeffersonian. As I said earlier, this was more of a personal experiment. I hope I can count on you."

"Actually . . ." He laughed softly. "I suppose it is a fitting irony that, now that we _have_ had a sexual experience together, I may not speak of it to anyone." Lips tight but quirked up at the edges, his gaze dropped to his feet. "My hyperbolic braggadocio while I was drunk would likely induce others to disbelieve me in any event, even if I were to say anything – which I most certainly will not." Vincent took a deep breath and nodded. "You have my word. I will keep our 'experiment,' as you put it, a secret."

"And I appreciate that."

She watched him, standing before her, still nude, his fingers twisting together, and came to a decision. She only hoped she had enough eggs.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

**Author's Note**: And now you know why I had to bump this to rated M. Hopefully this chapter isn't too graphic for THAT rating. I ended up splitting the original version of this chapter into two parts, since it would have been so much longer than the others, which is why Chapter 4 only has Dr. Brennan's PoV in it. Mr. Nigel-Murray's PoV will be in the next chapter, and then there should be one more. I think.

Thanks for reading!


	5. Dile Que No

Disclaimer: I do not own Bones nor any of the characters contained therein.

Summary: Some patterns of behavior follow logic, but many do not. Dr. Brennan reconsiders prior conclusions. Events follow s6 ep18, The Truth in the Myth. Rating has changed! Rated M for language/sexual situations. TB/VN-M

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

**Stranger Things Have Happened**

**Chapter 5: Dile Que No**

It was past nine now, and he really thought he should be going, but there was something about his mentor's post-coital ease with him that made him want to stay. Smiling at another of her odd 'jokes' as they put away the now-cleaned dishes, Vincent marveled again at being in a situation with Dr. Brennan that he had never anticipated. He wondered if he was acclimating to the sensation of surprise.

"I hope you got enough to eat, Vincent. Given your body type, I imagine you have quite a high metabolism."

"A reasonably high metabolism, in any event. And yes, I did have plenty to satiate me. In terms of food consumption as well." He noted that she was looking at him blankly and dropped his smirk. "Your frittata was delicious, thank you."

"You're welcome. It's one of the easiest meals to throw together – what makes a good frittata is dependent on the quality and the intermixture of the ingredients you add to the eggs."

"Of course." He handed her the last dish.

"I am sorry that we did not get to play any of the music you brought with you."

"Oh! Oh, that's alright. I really wasn't sure what to bring, and, well, having not completely understood the nature of the experiment you wished to conduct, I'm not sure any of it would have been appropriate."

"I've noticed that the music some people think is appropriate for sex acts doesn't generally fit what I might select. Then again, I prefer to concentrate on the act itself." She brushed past him, dropping the dishtowel on the counter before exiting the kitchen and heading into the livingroom.

"That, er, that makes sense." He followed her out and saw that she was bending forward at the end of the couch. She was wearing looser, more casual slacks than she'd had on before, and he found himself staring appreciatively at her bum, newly unconcerned at the prospect of being caught. Then he noticed what she was rooting through. "Are you – are you going through my bag?"

"Yes. I was curious about what music you brought." Dr. Brennan stood, holding a stack of CD cases. "There is quite a variety of genres."

"Yes, well, as I said, I wasn't sure what to bring –"

"Jazz, reggae, Ukrainian folk – is this a Bollywood soundtrack?" Eyebrows raised, she turned to him, holding the CD aloft.

"It's a . . . compilation, actually. Technically an album of covers, though I feel the Kronos Quartet did the originals justice."

"I see." Dr. Brennan put _You've Stolen My Heart: Songs from R.D. Burman's Bollywood with Asha Bhosle_ back in the messenger bag with the other CDs. "There's quite a bit of rock music as well, which is less of a surprise."

"Naturally. Nothing too surprising." Stepping closer to her, he fought the urge to yank his bag away from her. "Might as well just –"

"Ooh, what's this?" A thin, clear case appeared, pinched between her thumb and forefinger. "You made me a mix CD?"

"It's, well . . . sort of. It's just – as I pointed out earlier, I had no idea what your re-assessment of me would entail, and I, oh . . ." Vincent forced himself to stop gesturing, pinning his hands to his sides. "Honestly, it's a bit silly. Not at all the sort of mix I would have put together had I known . . . well, had I known anything. I actually thought that you might have been setting up a mock crime scene for me to examine, and the musical styles don't really . . . flow song to song the way a proper mix should."

"A mock crime scene?" She was nodding, staring absently at the disk in her hand. "That was an interesting conclusion, even though it was wrong."

"Yes." Exhaling slowly, he stared at the floor. _Just relax_, he thought. _She's not going to deride you for your song selection – and really, even if she did, there are worse things that could have happened_. _Considering that she laughed at the idea of our being lovers, and yet did not laugh during our lovemaking . . . yes, could have been worse, much, much worse_.

"Do you not want me to play it?"

He looked up, giving a half-shrug. "Not sure there's a point to it now, really, but you may if you like."

"Hm. Is this a gift for me? You wrote my name on it." She waved the disk, reflected light strobing over him.

"Yes. Please keep it with my compliments." Swallowing, he hoped that she would wait to play it after he'd left.

"Oh. Then thank you." She set the disk on the coffee table and swiveled to face him. "You've given me quite a few things, Vincent. I haven't given you anything – that hardly seems equitable."

"That – well, you did make me dinner, and um, there is the small matter of," Vincent cleared his throat, "our, um, sexual encounter . . ." The moment of her climax flashed in his mind, her sculpted, naked body tensing beneath him, and around him, slick, hot, legs splayed, one arm straight up, an upended Y, pink flesh against cream-colored sheets, breasts pert with strawberry-tinged nipples cinched to points, jostling with each impact . . .

"Well, food was necessary to replenish our energy after sex," her voice cut through his reverie, "and the sex itself was part of my re-assessment and, in addition, was completely mutual – sex is not a gift from one person to the other. Or it isn't if you do it right."

He blinked, blush fading. "Did – oh." Vincent swallowed, looking away. "Did I . . . did I not . . . _do_ it right?"

"You did it correctly in my estimation." She raised her eyebrows, eyes darting down and up to meet his. "What I mean is, that doesn't count as a gift."

"Ah. I see, alright then." Several questions prodded from the corners of his consciousness, but he fought them off, unsure if he wanted the answers. _"You did it correctly in my estimation" is likely as much of a compliment as I am liable to get anyway_, he thought, his cheeks warming again. _And my chances of having another go, a re-re-assessment, are vanishingly small_. A sigh left his lips, unbidden.

"Wait here." Dr. Brennan turned and abruptly strode back to the bedroom.

"What?" Vincent exhaled, feeling out of sorts, and called out to her. "You don't have to . . ." He let his voice fall to a mumble. "You don't owe me anything." He traced a finger along the back of her couch, remembering the feel of her skin under his fingers, remembering her heat as she had arched into him, remembering the scent of her, the real one, sweet butter beneath the dissipating whiff of soap and spice . . . _It's going to be massively difficult to concentrate if I keep . . . mentally revisiting our lovemaking_, he thought, shaking his head. _Best not let myself get too distracted – lab coats don't hide everything_.

The sounds of drawers opening and closing came from the bedroom, followed by a door unlatching. There was a long moment of silence. "Ha!" Her voice sounded further away than it should have, and there was a thud and some rustling sounds.

Just as Vincent was considering going in after her, he heard her footsteps approaching. "Everything alright?" he asked as she re-emerged holding something behind her.

"Yes! As soon as I knew what to look for, I found the box right away."

"As I was saying, you don't owe me any–"

"Whether I owe you anything or not is immaterial. I simply realized that I have something that you would appreciate more than I would, or I think you will." She held out a large, flat, brown-paper-wrapped parcel. "My brother held onto some things my parents had when we were kids, and he sent me a couple of the boxes after we reconnected. Here," she said, handing it to him. "This is more for collecting than for playing, but I thought . . . you like Led Zeppelin, is that right?"

"I . . ." Vincent's voice stopped in his throat. He still had a corner of the object pinched between thumb and forefinger, just peeking out of the brown wrapping, and he wasn't sure if he could breathe.

"Is it not to your liking? I could find you something else."

There was a roaring in his ears as he slipped it the rest of the way out of the paper. When he saw the writing in the lower left corner, he nearly dropped it. "This . . . it's . . . I . . ."

"Are you alright?"

"This is a . . . _signed_ copy of Led Zeppelin's first album! Signed! By Jimmy Page!" He was afraid to move, even to get a better grip on it, lest it disappear before him in a puff of smoke. _This feels like a dream again_, he thought.

"Yes. I remembered I had it in the collection of vinyl records that were once my parents', and then I remembered something you said about liking Jimmy Page, so I just thought –"

His eyes closing, Vincent's shoulders slumped as reality sunk in. "I can't possibly accept this. This is a keepsake, from your parents. It would be inappropriate . . ."

Dr. Brennan laughed. "Several things this evening would be considered inappropriate, but that does not make them wrong. As I said, I won't make use of this, but you will. It has no sentimental value to me, though if a box of dusty albums did have sentimental value, I still have several left. You will get far more enjoyment out of this than I will, and so I am happy to give it to you. Please accept it."

Hands trembling, he slipped the record back into the bag sheathing it. "I . . . I don't even feel worthy of looking on it, or breathing near it." He folded the paper at the top of the bag back over, protecting its contents.

"Well, if it means anything to you, I think you are worthy."

Vincent looked at her. _She seems completely serious_, he thought. _Do I dare?_ "Are you absolutely certain that you want me to have this?"

"Yes! Why is that so difficult to believe? Do you still think I'm pranking you? Because this would not be a very good prank."

Eyes crinkling, he leaned into the laugh, shoulders pitching forward as the sound cascaded out of him. Holding the bag-encased record with both hands, taking care not to squeeze or bend it, he shifted his gaze from its brown paper to her blue eyes. "If this were a prank, it would have to be one of the more excessively involved ones I'd ever heard of." Vincent took a deep breath. "I believe you, Dr. Brennan. Er, Temperance – sorry."

She nodded. "Good. And you're right, we should probably resume our normal modes of address, Mr. Nigel-Murray."

"Right. Yes." He suppressed the urge to kick himself. _One stupid slip on my part_, he thought, _and we're back to formalities_. Though he supposed that if they'd begun addressing each other more casually while at the Jeffersonian, it would not have gone without notice. _Hodgins, at the very least, would keep needling me until I confessed the reason, and that wouldn't do at all_.

"Is there something wrong?"

"No, no, no – nothing wrong at all." Shrugging, he jerked his chin to indicate the parcel he was still clutching. "It's just . . . this is a rather expensive gift, I mean, considering what it could be worth . . ."

"Money is not as crucial a concern for me because I have so much of it, so that shouldn't matter." Dr. Brennan walked to her sound system and set the mix CD next to it. "Oh – or were you suggesting that my giving you the record was a form of payment?"

"I . . . _hadn't_ been suggesting . . . no." The thought genuinely hadn't occurred to him, but he was thinking it now.

"Well, it isn't. Also, the monetary value of something is mostly irrelevant if you don't intend to sell it."

"Oh, I won't be selling this. No way." _The very idea_, he thought.

"Though I suppose if you wanted to be paid for sex, you could easily earn a living. You are quite skillful and attentive."

_Definitely acclimating to surprise_, he thought. "Ooh, that's me – Vincent Nigel-Murray," he winked, tipping an imaginary hat, "male prostitute." _Skillful and attentive, eh?_ _Definitely adding those to my list of qualities_. He cleared his throat. "And, er, thank you."

"In all seriousness, though, Vincent, please don't engage in prostitution. Aside from being illegal here, it's very risky."

"No worries. I am, by nature, risk-averse." Glancing away, he nonetheless decided to ask the question that had been lurking in the back of his mind since they'd left the bedroom. "Just for my personal edification," he met her eye, "did I pass?"

"Pass?" Dr. Brennan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Your re-assessment. If, I mean, if you can tell me, at this juncture." Shaking his head, he looked away. "It's alright. I only wondered."

"I told you before – this was a re-assessment of my own ability to evaluate properly."

"Well yes, but you did say that that included a re-assessment of me, comparing your expectations with my . . . capabilities." _Shouldn't have mentioned it_, he thought. _Might be best if I never know_.

"Hm. Yes, I did say something like that." She sighed, eyes downcast. "It isn't really a matter of your passing or failing, though. In this experiment, only I could pass or fail. And frankly, I failed. I underestimated you. You performed beyond my expectations – granted, my expectations were low, but still – it means that I misjudged you by not allowing myself to examine all the evidence without bias."

"Well . . . but you have examined the evidence. Now." Vincent kept his eyes on her face until hers locked with his.

A soft smile touched her face. "That's true. And I understand you better, I think. It was a worthwhile experiment."

"Agreed." Blushing slightly, he took a deep breath. "Despite not being able to tell anyone about this, I feel we've come to a point of greater understanding between us."

"Yes. I –"

"It's not . . . I mean, it's alright if it is, but, um . . . you not wanting anyone to know – is it, er . . ."

"I am not ashamed, if that's what you are thinking." Dr. Brennan regarded him coolly. "I simply don't want my other interns to think I'm going to have sex with them as well. Whatever misconceptions I may have about them or other people, I would need to design different experiments in each case, but I have already proven what I needed to know in this case, so the point is moot."

"Fair enough." Vincent decided that now was not the time to point out that the scientific method required multiple tests with checks and balances. Also, he really didn't want to dwell on the image of Dr. Brennan 'taking on' all the other interns at once . . .

"Oh, how much further have you progressed in your compositional and dimensional analysis of the Tyrannosaurus Rex's humerus as compared with a human's?"

"Ah! Actually, I expanded on your suggestions regarding the comparative density of the cortical bone of each, and I think we really could have quite the presentation!" Vincent grinned, relieved to have moved to a less emotionally charged topic. "Do you genuinely think we'll be able to speak at the conference?"

"Definitely. In fact, I have already received confirmation that they are interested in our presenting our hypothesis. We'll have to submit the full paper for their review, but given what progress you've already made, they're almost certain to give us final approval."

"Excellent! That's really fantastic!"

"I agree. As soon as you've finished the mathematical proof, we can begin work on the presentation itself. We'll need to provide multiple images along with the text, but we can discuss that further once you've finished the calculations."

Vincent felt the blood drain from his face. "Oh, I've . . . I've really got a lot of work to do then. I'd best be, um –" He wanted to kiss her but felt that would be inappropriate to do at this point, so instead he shook her hand with enthusiasm. "Thank you Temp— er, Dr. Brennan." His eye seemed to wink of its own volition. "I'll get right on it then! See you at the lab!"

In a whirlwind, he grabbed up all his things and hurried out, not daring to look back.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

**Author's Note**: Sorry for the delay, but here is Mr. Nigel-Murray's PoV at last. Funny how the awkwardness never completely goes away. Also, I figured that these two would have had to have been working on the Tyrannosaurus project for awhile before it was mentioned in the episode, The Hole in the Heart. There is still one more chapter left.

Thanks for reading!


	6. Riff Walk

Disclaimer: I do not own Bones nor any of the characters contained therein.

Summary: Some patterns of behavior follow logic, but many do not. Dr. Brennan reconsiders prior conclusions. Events follow s6 ep18, The Truth in the Myth. Rating has changed! Rated M for language/sexual situations. TB/VN-M

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

**Stranger Things Have Happened**

**Chapter 6: Riff Walk**

Minimal clean-up completed, she regarded her bedside table, one hand on her hip. _I suppose I could return the remaining condoms and cleaning wipes to him_, Temperance thought, _but I do not want to draw attention at the lab_. _Vincent might refuse them anyway, considering the fuss he made over the album I gave him_. She sighed. _Perhaps I'll find a use for them eventually_.

Walking back out to the livingroom, she surveyed the area, looking for anything out of place. Everything was as expected. She had her "empirical evidence" at this point regarding her presuppositions of her intern. She had leapt to conclusions – a very human trait, but no less distressing. _I have to hold myself to a higher standard_, she thought. _Also, I am not sure that I can consider my interaction with Vincent to have been completely rational either_. _Even when sex is agreed to be nothing more than a mutual exchange of physical pleasure for the purpose of an experiment, there are still emotions involved, because emotions are chemically induced_. _I seem to have a greater affection for Vincent than I had before, although I am not in love with him, and I am still able to evaluate my conclusions about him objectively_. She wondered how this might affect her thinking in the future.

_In all likelihood_, she thought, _the effect will be minor_. _I must have had some level of affection for him before attempting this experiment, or I would have dismissed it entirely_. _I think_. She frowned. _If I ask Booth about this, he'll yell at me_. _I'm not sure he would understand_.

_"The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but those are the facts." His eyes had flicked to her as he drove._

_"I understand." Her voice had hitched. "I missed my chance."_

Taking a seat, Temperance knotted and unknotted the end of a Thai prayer scarf. Intellectually, she'd moved past that pivotal moment, her realization about her feelings for Booth. But emotionally, she kept returning to it.

_"OK, this is how this is going to work. Me and you are partners, that's what we do. Me and you, we're __**partners**__. And I love that. I think that's great. And we're good people that catch bad people, right? And - and we argue. We go back-and-forth. We're partners, and sometimes after we solve the case, we come here and celebrate. That's what we do, we celebrate. So as far as I can see, that's what happens next. Are you okay with that?"_

_He had paused, stared at her, his voice indicating anger, panic. "Great, 'cause you know, if you __**are**__, you stay here and you have a drink with me, all right? Maybe we have a little small talk, a little chit chat. If not, well, you can leave __–__ there's the door. And tomorrow, uh, I'll find you another FBI guy."_

_"Those are my only choices?" Surprise and sadness had colored her voice._

_"Yeah. Those are your only choices."_

_An easy decision. "Then I'll have a drink."_

She had felt that they had both been broken somehow, and yet were still able to come together in the way they always had before she'd had her realization. That was important, a good thing, and she knew it. Yet sex, and their differing views of it, still managed to be a stumbling block for them.

_"Making love would be . . . quite satisfying." She had smiled._

_"Yeah, but then what? I mean, as a couple. You and me . . ." His gesture had been vague._

_"No, it would never work."_

Letting go of the scarf for a moment, Temperance placed her thumb in her other palm and rubbed in a circle. There were so many differences between herself and Booth. She had told herself many times that she was better off continuing her life as she had for years, focusing on her work, finding time for pleasure with like-minded individuals who had no long-term expectations of her. She still enjoyed that. Only Booth made her feel like she was missing something.

_"You know the difference between strength and imperviousness, right?"_

_"Well, not if you're going to get all scientific on me." He'd cocked an eyebrow at her._

_"Well, a substance that is impervious to damage doesn't need to be strong. When you and I met . . . I was an impervious substance. Now I'm a strong substance."_

_"I think I know what you mean."_

_"A time could come when you aren't angry anymore and I'm strong enough to risk losing the last of my imperviousness," she had said, hopeful. "Maybe then we could try to be together."_

Of course she had changed – environment systematically alters individual behavior over time, it was inevitable. The change itself wasn't the point. She felt, now, that she was changing for the better. Had her interaction with Vincent played a part in that? Temperance wasn't sure. _Probably_, she thought. _But my long-term exposure to Booth has had the greater influence_. Despite all the things they had not done and had not said, her mind always came back to Booth.

_"I just need time to kinda hang back and find that inner peace before I, you know, get back out there. You know what we're talking about here?" His familiar significant glance._

_"Yes." Pulse quickening, she'd kept her answer simple._

_"You and me, you know, and love and happiness and life and fate."_

_"I don't believe in fate, but I know what we're talking about."_

And she had. It wasn't that she was waiting – though in a sense, she had always been waiting. It was that she knew she wouldn't be ready until Booth was. And Booth wasn't ready.

Keeping secrets wasn't something she relished. Temperance was accustomed to keeping several things to herself, but not for the purpose of deliberately hiding them – there were simply certain topics that she didn't feel it necessary to discuss. She didn't fear recriminations from the Jeffersonian or scandal of any kind. And truth be told, she easily would have been able to dismiss any overtures from other interns if they reacted in the way she had suggested to Vincent that they might. Her reasoning led her to believe that if the others at the lab knew he had had sex with her, that they would treat Vincent differently, possibly to his detriment. _Booth wouldn't approve_, she thought. _No one would_. _Except maybe for Ange_. She would keep their sexual interaction a secret to protect him, and that was all.

She recalled their pre-coital conversation on the couch and Vincent's apparent discomfort bubbling over into mirth, one hand reaching up to cover his mouth as if laughter itself was unseemly. He confused her sometimes, but somehow managed to be endearing about it. Temperance wasn't sure why. _We don't make sense either_, she thought, hand perching on her hip. _Well, maybe no one makes sense_. _This is why I like working on cases and doing field work and research – I can make sense of things in those situations_. _Facts are easier to deal with than feelings_. She knew she'd have to deal more with her feelings for Booth, but she felt no rush. They had time.

Entering the kitchen, she approached the pineapple and bent to inhale its scent. It didn't smell ripe yet, so she left it on the counter. She noticed that the bottle of ginger brew was still on the counter as well and decided to put it in the refrigerator. Considering that she mostly drank water, or tea, and the occasional fruit juice or whisky, she wasn't sure when she would sample it. _Maybe the next time Ange comes over_, she thought. _I'll say that Vincent – no, that Mr. Nigel-Murray gave it to me while we were working on our research presentation_. _That's plausible enough_. She pulled open the door, cool air wafting over her, and placed the bottle in the center.

Glancing at the contents of her fridge, she remembered the semen. Temperance crouched and slid the tray of biological samples toward her, staring specifically at the knotted condom. _This is several ounces of semen_, she thought. _Perhaps when I transfer it to a test tube for the lab, I will only use a portion of it_. _Certainly area sperm banks are always in need of donors_. _I'm sure Vincent wouldn't mind_.

She replaced the tray and closed the door, standing. Reaching up, into the cabinet, she pulled down the ruby tin of herbal tea. A pot of tea, rumination, and some music – all ingredients for a restorative evening at home. Temperance felt relaxed, ready for another day, with the promise of more things to do, to know, and to be.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

On the whole, it had been quite a day. He was still sorting through his feelings on it all. He didn't believe in karma, though if he had, he might wonder about a subsequent backlash, considering that he had, in fact, experienced a delicious evening of sexual adventure with Dr. Temperance Brennan, _and_ that he now owned a mint original printing of Led Zeppelin's first album signed by Jimmy Page. He didn't believe in 'putting his fate in a higher power' despite how much the AA meetings he attended harped on that – fair enough if that worked for other people, but it didn't work for him. Vincent just did his best, believing that his actions spoke for themselves and reaped their own consequences. "Learn from your mistakes, boy, but never stop moving forward," his uncle had once said to him, and he took that to heart. It just surprised him sometimes when things went his way.

Slipping the album from the brown paper bag once more, he regarded it as though it was contraband. After a moment's contemplation, he approached the shelf above his telly, moved some knick-knacks aside – a carved elephant from his uncle, an antique silver pitcher engraved with the Murray family name, three green stones from Madagascar, and the bottle of the last beer he'd ever drank on the night he'd pledged to give up drinking – and placed the album bang in the center, propped against the wall. He stepped back, staring at it. _Not sure that's a good enough spot_, he thought, _but it'll do for now_. _Going to have to invest in a UV-filtering container for it, to keep it protected_.

It was easier to think about the album than it was to think about the activities in which he and Dr. Brennan had engaged. _Which is mad, actually_, he thought. _I should be thinking about our lovemaking!_ _How long have I fantasized about THAT?_ He shook his head. _Since I met her, I'd expect_. _Amazing to think that it really happened_. _Experiment or not, it was still_ . . . Closing his eyes for a second, he sighed, lips curving. The feel of her fingers unbuttoning his shirt, nimble, her skin warm . . . the eagerness of her kisses as she'd moved him toward the bedroom . . . her utter lack of shyness, slipping her top off as he'd watched . . . the press of her breasts against his chest, soft, heat rising . . . her hands teasing, reaching into his pants . . . her eyes, flashing as he'd bent to disrobe her fully as she'd done him . . . the feel of her nipple, his tongue circling it – he'd been so caught up, he'd nearly forgotten to get the condoms, until she'd reminded him. Despite the intervening polyisoprene-based protection, his orgasm had been one of the most intense he'd ever had. He licked his lips. _Incredible_.

Vincent was surprised to note that he did not feel resentful in the least that he had to keep their sexual experience under wraps. _It's fair_, he thought. _More than fair, considering some of the fabrications I spun about her, and about the others_. Recalling some of the more scandalous tales he'd told his mates about Angela Montenegro and, especially, Dr. Camille Saroyan, he found himself blushing. _Not that any of those things will be coming true_ . . .

_"__Mr. Nigel-Murray, if I didn't have any self-control, I would __**kiss**__ you."_

Oh, how his imagination had run away with that one. The notion of Dr. Camille Saroyan with no self-control was enough, but the fact that, in jest or not, she had verbally articulated a desire to kiss him and bam: daydream fugue state. That had stayed with him for days. He'd actually slipped up that night – fallen off the wagon and had a glass of whisky, partially to distract himself from his inner fantasy life and partially to cover his nervousness at having to pretend to Hodgins that he didn't know about Angela's pregnancy, which turned out to be moot anyway. Barely managing to keep from drinking more, he'd later wondered what might have happened if he'd kept sober and been a designated driver. _Impossible scenario, of course_, he thought, _but if I'd been left there with a tipsy Dr., er, Temperance, Camille, and Angela, and I'd gotten to Temperance's place first and she'd asked us all upstairs_ . . . _Angela wasn't really showing yet, but she might have needed a massage, and if Camille was feeling . . . unrestrained and cheeky, and she came up behind me as I was rubbing Angela's feet . . . and then Temperance came out and decided to join us for experimental purposes_ . . . Vincent felt the hairs on his arms rise up.

He shook his head as if flinging the thoughts from it. _Let's not get more distracted as a consequence of this_. _You've got work to do!_

The conference loomed as an impending deadline, but it felt more hopeful than threatening. _Something to look forward to_ . . . Humming the song to himself, his eyes scanned his apartment, coming to rest on rich cognac-colored leather.

_I really should get started on the calculations for the tyrannosaur presentation_, he thought, _but . . . I will have some time tomorrow to work on that_. _And honestly, when will there be a more fitting occasion?_

Approaching slowly, he ran a finger up its arm and down its spine, circling, breathing in the scent. Circle completed, he turned, bent, and sat in the grand leather chair, sinking into it, propping his feet on the footstool. No facts, pertinent or otherwise, immediately sprung to mind demanding to be spoken. He smiled. For the moment, Vincent Nigel-Murray was completely at peace.

~~~#~~~~~~~~~~~~#&#~~~~~~~~~~~~#~~~

**Author's Note**: Final chapter! Back to both perspectives for this one. A sidenote: polyisoprene is the material used in making modern latex condoms. Here are some not-especially-pertinent details as an addendum to the story:

Chapter titles were dance-related:

Mirror Reel – a Scottish country dance move

Box Step – the basic waltz step

Sugar Push – a swing dance move

Pas de Deus – a ballet duet

Dile Que No – a salsa dance move

Riff Walk – a tap dance step

DR. BRENNAN'S EXPERIMIX (the CD Vincent put together for her):

"Whole Lotta Love" – Led Zeppelin

"Loneliest Person" – The Pretty Things

"World Lookin' In" – Morcheeba

"Cut Your Heart Off . . ." – Redneck Manifesto

"Lucky" – Radiohead

"Cloudbusting" – Kate Bush

"Couldn't Stand the Weather" – Stevie Ray Vaughn

"Interstellar Overdrive" – Pink Floyd

"Fake Palindromes" – Andrew Bird

"Graviyaunosch" – Ruins

"Chaiyya Chaiyya" – Gulza

"Rumour Has It" – Adele

"Europa" – Thomas Dolby

"Assassin" – Muse

"Tales of Brave Ulysses" – Cream

"Starálfur" – Sigur Rós

This was fun to write. I tried to stay in character as much as possible, and it was more of an awkwardness-fest than anything else. That's the reason I listed this story as "Friendship" rather than "Romance" – it fit these two better.

Thanks to everyone for reading, and a special thank you to philly cheese dude, DeenaTweety, and JayBee188 who were kind enough to review! I really appreciated hearing some feedback while I was writing this, so hugs to you!


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